The Hardest Thing To Do
by Jemmiah
Summary: ObiWan tries his hardest to offer some words of comfort to Han's mother.
1. Default Chapter

TITLE: The Hardest Thing to Do

By Jemmiah

Samla waited until Obi-Wan had closed the door of Jemmy's bedroom before releasing her firm grip of Jake's waist, moving a few steps towards the stairs. The noise from upstairs had diminished in intensity; unbroken sobbing replacing the terrible, hysterical screaming of minutes before but the sound was no less heartbreaking to Samla for all that. She had a fair idea of what CorSec had told her friend in terms of the end result, if not the detail. Despite her earlier attempt at cheerful optimism it had been difficult to believe the outcome would be positive.

Slowly descending the large, elegant staircase the two CorSec officers, one little more than a youth and the other a harder, older female exchanged dubious glances with one another. The young man, as fluffy-cheeked and innocent in appearance as the day he was born seemed particularly ill at ease and Samla found herself in the almost unique position of sparing pity for one of CorSec's workforce. So used to being on the opposing side was she that it was inherently difficult to forget they were no longer the enemy…

"What happened?" Samla asked bluntly as the female officer finally reached the bottom of the stairs. "I'm assuming the news wasn't good?"

The woman grimaced sympathetically. "It's never a good day when you have to deliver such unhappy news. But if it's bad for the likes of us it must be almost incomprehensible to the parents…" She half-turned her head in the direction of Jemmy's room from whence the sobbing could clearly be heard, with no sign of abating. "In instances like this we wouldn't normally leave the individual alone in such distress, but the Jedi Knight suggested that we leave her in his charge." The fish-like pout twisted into an expression that suggested bewilderment. "Never argue with a Jedi, that's my motto."

"And what about Han?" Jake asked, moving to take his position by his wife's side once again.

The female officer sighed. "They've found no trace of him. Without an idea of where the initial attack occurred there's no way of finding the place where he vanished. Short of searching the entire planet there's not very much else that can be done. We've looked at all the places that his mother thinks she might have been that day. We did have a few people who remember seeing someone of her description with a little boy in the vicinity of the spaceport on Coronet, but nothing definite. There's been no sighting of him since. A two-year-old boy on the streets would tend to be noticed, even in the less desirable areas of town. And," she added hesitantly, "the fact that she remembers a shot being fired in the boy's direction has frankly led us to believe that her attacker simply…disintegrated him."

"Simply disintegrated him?" Samla spat back, outraged at the casual manner in which the officer had offered her opinion. "We're talking about a little boy, not some disposable toy! This is somebody's child!"

"You told her that you thought Han had been disintegrated?" Jake echoed, feeling sick to the stomach. "No wonder that went down well!"

"I merely reported what I had been told to say." The officer eyed Jake coolly, although not without sympathy. "That in all likelihood the child was dead. And even if he hadn't been killed at the time, it's been over a week since the attack. It's unlikely he'd survive long on the streets on his own without anyone to take care of him."

"He could still be alive!" Samla insisted, trying to block out the noise of Jemmiah's weeping from upstairs. Whatever Obi-Wan was saying, if he was saying anything, it evidently wasn't working. "You have to keep searching!"

The woman shook her head slightly, feeling almost embarrassed. "CorSec can't spend any more time or resources on this matter when it's an almost certainty the child has been murdered. The considered opinion is that Han Suul has been killed, most likely disposed of in a manner that will leave no evidence behind. The attack on his mother and those against her late husband and his friend are still being investigated, but…" She spread her hands apart in a gesture that indicated finality. "I'm afraid the case on the boy has been closed as of today."

Samla's mouth dropped wide open as if in desperate search of something coherent to say, but no words were forthcoming. She couldn't believe it! She just could not believe the almost flippant way in which the missing person case had been upgraded to murder just so that the investigation could be rounded off. What about Jemmy, crying her heart out inconsolably now she'd been told the worst? What about little Han? What if he was still alive, somewhere out there? On his own…scared and hungry…missing his mother? Instantly she pictured one of her own children in the same position and found herself every bit as grief-stricken as Jemmy. Why would nobody do something? Was this CorSec's idea of bringing closure?

"I've never heard such a din before." The young man mumbled uncomfortably, chafing under his starched uniform collar. "Is that normal? Why is she making such a noise?"

This time it was Jake who answered on his wife's behalf.

"There speaks the voice of a man who has no children of his own." He remarked grimly. "And if I might add, with an attitude like that is never likely to, either."

* * *

He held her wordlessly, allowing her the peace and quiet needed to mourn: her sobbing reverberating through both her own body and his. He'd hoped - somewhat desperately he had to admit - that as in days gone by his very presence might be of some reassurance, but there was little that would bring Jemmy any ease now CorSec had told her the worst. And yet…

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, trying to fight through the overwhelming sense of Jemmiah's grief, the confusion, the certainty in the minds of those who had given up the struggle to find the truth, reaching forward with the force. There was more happening here than at first met the eye…something hidden. Something being hidden.

Or someone being hidden from his attempts to find them.

_Slam!_

It was as if a wall had come crashing down against his mind. Momentarily reeling, Obi-Wan blinked rapidly in surprise. He wasn't sure what exactly his mind had touched, but it had felt like a barrier: an invisible shield protecting his quarry. It had shut him out…no, was continuing to shut him out. Every time he tried to get near the truth it seemed to slip further from his grasp.

_Slam!_

It was no good. Except that now he felt quietly convinced of one thing.

"Jemmy," he said softly, trying to pry her durasteel-like grip from his arm, "Look at me." When she didn't respond to his urging he gently took hold of her chin, tilting it upwards so that she would have no choice but to look him in the eye. "I need you to listen to me. This is important."

Her eyes were red and puffy, disfigured by the tears she so rarely allowed herself to shed. It was as piteous site indeed; Obi-Wan thought sorrowfully, especially to one such as himself who had to an extent become hardened to the cruelty and misfortune prevalent within the galaxy. He'd witnessed poverty, starvation, injury, slavery, insanity and every kind of perverted sickness that existed during his travels with Qui-Gon and then Anakin, yet there was something in the sight of a mother weeping for her lost child that stirred the utmost pity in Obi-Wan. And this wasn't just anybody; this was Jemmy…

"I don't believe," he said slowly, picking his words with deliberate care, "that Han is dead."

He wasn't sure if she'd heard him at first, or even if she had that she had understood what he was saying. One moment CorSec were telling her that Han was gone and here he was confusing matters by saying the opposite - and to what good purpose he couldn't say. Even if he was alive, what then? What good would it do if the child could not be restored to her? With CorSec refusing to search and his own time on Corellia limited to a few stolen days who would be left to champion Han's cause? Oh, Samla and Jake would make what enquiries they could. No doubt Jemmy's Mathers cousins would throw their money around in an attempt to buy information, but he remained certain that it would achieve little.

"Don't say that." Jemmy shook her head violently as if trying to rid herself of some distasteful notion. "Don't get my hopes up only to dash them. It would be cruel. I couldn't bear it."

The tears started once more and Obi-Wan took her hand in his own, squeezing the fingers tightly within his own grasp.

"Dear friend," he said warmly, "I don't say anything to be cruel. I say a thing because I believe it could be true. I can't tell you for certain whether Han is alive or not. The force will not reveal it to me. But I do feel that there is a very real chance that he lives - and that he is being looked after in some way." Obi-Wan paused, recollecting the strange, shocked feeling he'd encountered when he'd tried to reach out to discover the truth. He was aware that Jemmy was staring at him intently, hanging onto his every word as if it were her only hope of salvation. "As to where he might be or who he may be with, I cannot say. Nor can I say for certain that he will be found."

He'd built up her hopes only to crush them, and he'd been a fool to even try. She would have been better off believing him dead than being left with the idea that he was somehow alive, never to set eyes upon him again. Obi-Wan silently cursed himself a thousand times: he might as well have taken a knife to her for all the good he had done. But even when accused by others as being liberal with the truth he felt on this occasion Jemmiah needed to know exactly where she stood.

"I have to get him back." She began to weep once again, wiping away freely flowing tears with the back of her hand. "You have to help me find him…I can't leave him out there if he's still alive. He's only little…nobody wants to help me. I can't do it all on my own." Her fingers began to clutch convulsively at the blue bedcovers, twisting them beneath her grasp. "It's just too much…if I can't find out the truth I don't want to go on. I can't go on…I haven't the strength."

"You must." Obi-Wan commanded quietly. "Even although you don't want to. You have to carry on. Right now breathing probably feels difficult, let alone thinking of tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that…but you have to face it. Giving up is easy."

"What reason do I have to carry on?" Jemmy's eyes shone through thick lashes gummed together with moisture. She rubbed continually at her face with bunched fingers, and as she did so a fresh cascade of tears would fall anew. There were no words to convey to Obi-Wan how she felt. It was far worse than anything she had ever felt before…worse than the loss of her mother, or Evla, or even Qui-Gon who had at least all experience life to the full before they'd been taken from her. Han was a child. A child who had never been given a chance to grow up and be happy and do all the wonderful things Jemmy had wished for him.

She'd not even wanted him to start with! As she sat there, wondering if the gods had punished her for her initial rejection, Jemmy could feel nothing but shame for the way she had reacted on first being presented with her son. He had been a gift. She hadn't seen it at the time, and now that he was gone she could see it all too plainly.

"You'll carry on because you have to." Obi-Wan replied simply. "Because you always have, no matter what has happened. Because you are the strongest being I have ever known in my life. And because," he looked her intently in the face, "I command it."

Jemmiah felt the next sob catch in her throat…then finally subside.

"Are you using a mind-trick on me?" She warned him, wiping futilely at her reddened nose.

"I wouldn't dream of it. But I command it all the same. Jemmy," Obi-Wan allowed a rare moment of sentiment to break through his accomplished Jedi mask, blinking back a tear of his own, "You have to keep focussed on the fact that one day, no matter how long it may take, that your son may come back to you. Don't you want to be there to see that? Do you want him to be left without a mother?"

"They said he was dead!" Jemmy almost crumpled over, hugging herself for comfort. "They told me he'd been disintegrated and that they couldn't find so much as a shoe! I can't even bury him, or add his name to the mausoleum on Coruscant along with my parents! It's as if he never existed and nobody cares except for me!" Her words ended in an outraged shriek. "Am I supposed to search every street and alleyway on Corellia? I'm just one person, Ben! And I'm a person who is rapidly losing their mind!"

"You'll be strong because you always find something more in a crisis." Obi-Wan continued patiently. "And because you have friends who will support you, and help you. Han will turn up, one day. I do not think he is dead."

"You can't promise me that, can you?" Jemmy's reply was angst-ridden.

Obi-Wan shook his head, sighing. "No." He said finally. "No I can't promise you that. But I'm sure our paths will cross again sometime…"

"I want him back now!" Jemmy snapped. "Do you know what it's like for a child on the streets? Do you have any idea what it's like to be at the mercy of sick-minded individuals? Or the kind of things a kid will do just in order to stay alive? Do you? Can you even begin to imagine? Because," she thumbed at her chest, "I can! That WAS my life. I would die a thousand times to spare my son from that…and now I either have to think I've lost him for good or that some weirdo has taken him away. How can you sit there and be so calm? How DARE you be so kriffing calm!" She thumped at him violently on the arm, wanting to thrash some sign of emotion from him. "This is my son…" Her words faltered as the realisation finally sunk in at last. "…And he's not coming back. I've lost him."

Obi-Wan gathered her up against him again, placing his arm over her shoulder. Qui-Gon would have handled this so much better than he, but instead the role of comforter had fallen to him. And what would Qui-Gon have said to her? What words of consolation would his master have offered amidst such dark times? He pictured the Jedi in his mind and tried, for just that moment, to become the man he had respected and held above all others in the galaxy.

"Jemmiah," he said finally, "there's always hope. And as long as there is hope you have to face tomorrow. Even if it is the hardest thing to do."

He glanced around the room, feeling the weight of her head against his chest and the itchy warmth of her salt tears against his skin. For the first time since he had dismissed the CorSec officers it struck him that he was in a child's bedroom, looking at a child's collection of stuffed toys and perched precariously upon a child's bed.

A bed that was from that night on destined to remain empty.


	2. Solo

**Solo**

By Jemmiah

She'd been raking around the garbage thrown aside in the alleyways when she'd first noticed him. It was Marinka's job to scrounge through the discarded household waste and scraps of food, searching for anything vaguely edible to share with her partner, or perhaps some abandoned item of clothing to help keep the cold at bay. In fact it had been the chill air, the first sign of the onset of the winter season, that had led her to make the discovery. A small wisp of frozen breath from the huddle of rags in the darkest corner of the alley - a tiny vaporous exhalation - had caught Marinka's eye.

At first she had thought it some mangy cannoid pup: the streets were littered with the beasts. Every so often the creatures would launch an attack on the dispossessed street dwellers, or 'ratches' as they Corellian elite disparagingly called them, but only if they were truly desperate for food. Nevertheless Marinka had not been terribly keen on finding out if this one was hungry enough to take its chance…

Then the bundle had whimpered. No animal larynx could have produced such a sound.

Daring to move closer into the darkness, Marinka had found herself staring into two large, frightened eyes. She couldn't say what colour they were for certain, probably a light hazel shade, but she could see the face was smeared with grime except for two large clear streaks that ran like slug trails down towards the small chin. The creature of which she had been so wary had been a mere child: a tiny, humanoid male of a very young age. Frightened, the boy had recoiled further towards the wall.

Marinka's astonishment had naturally given way to pity. As a Corellian, whose belief in the importance of family she held above all else, her mind automatically turned to picturing what might have caused the child to be hiding in the darkened alleyways and streets of Corellia. Whatever it was certainly wouldn't have been good: nobody who ended up on the streets had enjoyed a happy life. They were either hiding from the law, or from who knows what: dispossessed, drunk, deprived of all basic essentials. Criminals, murderers, thieves…even the mere unlucky dwelt amongst the shadows. Too young to be any of the former Marinka classified the child as one of the unlucky ones, and had tried to find out what she could about him.

At first he had refused to speak. She'd wondered if perhaps he was too young to form his words properly, or whether it was fear that was staying his tongue. Traumatised, perhaps? His clothing, although dirty and crumpled had once been quite good. Somebody had been looking after him, then? Obviously he hadn't been born on the streets: the expensive little shoes on his feet were testimony to that. Instantly Marinka had wondered how much she might be able to get for them if she took them from the boy, and then had ashamedly berated herself for thinking such a horrible thought.

She'd been on the streets for so long that thinking horrible thoughts had become almost second nature. It was dog-eat-dog in the big, bad galaxy…

Finally, after a few minutes the boy had lisped out his name.

Han. That was all. Nothing else. If he had a second name it hardly mattered anymore: he wouldn't be needing it on the streets.

Where was his mother, Marinka had wondered? Had she abandoned him? What kind of person would do that to a child: a mere baby? Or was she somewhere, searching desperately for her son? Perhaps she had fallen victim to the street, too? Many people found their way there and few, if any, ever found their way back…

She'd tried to take the boy's hand but he had frozen, snatching his tiny fingers from her grasp. He'd not wanted to leave even despite her most earnest pleas; entreating him to go with her. She'd smiled at him, asking him why he didn't want to leave but he, being so small and unable to express himself, had found it difficult to say. Confused, miserable and frightened, he had only been able to tell her that he had been told to "stay and hide" in the dark. With nobody around to tell him otherwise Marinka guessed that was all the little boy had left to cling onto. Who had told him to hide, she had wondered? And from what? Where were they now?

"Was it your mama?" She'd asked him, regarding the tear-stained face. "Did your mama tell you to hide? Where is she? Was it your papa?"

The boy had looked bewildered, and had put a hand against his head. Marinka had just about managed to make out a small, darkened bruise against his temple. Who or what had caused that, she had wondered? One thing seemed apparent: whatever had befallen the boy's carers they weren't anywhere nearby.

"Why don't you come with me?" She'd held out her hand to him once more. "I don't have much, but we can snuggle up at night to keep warm. It'll be better than freezing out here on your own. You don't want to be on your own, do you?"

Han hadn't wanted to be on his own, but he hadn't wanted to leave either. Someone had told him to stay put, someone important to him, and resolutely he had decided to stay and do as he was told. Marinka had shaken her head, knowing the boy would not last long on his own. Children were resilient and could get by with very little on the streets, but this little one was so very young…if he stayed then either the vrelts or the cannoids would get him. But what was Marinka supposed to do? Force him to go with her?

She'd walked unhappily away, looking back over he shoulder as she had gone. Perhaps that was what had convinced the boy to go with her. For an agonised second he had stood there, alone, clearly at a loss for what to do. His heart seemed to tell him to stay: his head told him to go. In the end perhaps it was the instinct for survival that had won out, or that last little glance of Marinka's: so full of sadness, so full of understanding, reminding him of someone else who had been kind and warm and beautiful…

Han had toddled after her, taking Marinka's hand, leaving the past and the darkness behind him.

* * *

"What are we supposed to do with him?" Gedric growled. "Just what we need - another kriffing mouth to feed! We can barely look after ourselves!"

Marinka scratched at her scalp through matted strands of golden hair. Like most of those who lived on the streets her head had become a scritchies paradise. Gedric was not a native to Corellia, and he had little time for sentiments or family ties: he was practicality personified. In searching through the garbage there was a simple rule: if it didn't aid your own survival then it would be cast aside, and as far as he could see the little boy was more dead weight than a Hutt tied to his leg by a chain. They'd taken up with each other shortly after first coming to the streets: he was tough, smart and clever and she determined and resourceful. Together they'd just about managed to survive. But Gedric was not known for his forward thinking: his lack of vision was beginning to wear Marinka down.

"Was I supposed to leave him to die?"

Gedric shrugged. "Yes. If necessary. It's tough and it's cruel, but that's life sweetheart!" He hefted the few coins he had made during the day whilst he had been begging and then looked down at the child. It wasn't that he wished the boy any harm, but what he had said to Marinka was true. With the cold season nipping at their heals they would need every credit they could get: there was no room for sentiment. The child stared up at him with large, nerf-like eyes, evidently aware that he would get no love in return. Gedric had no love for himself anymore, let alone anyone else.

"He's just a child…"

"Look," Gedric shoved his hands into the torn pockets of his grey trouser pants; "boys need feeding, just like the rest of us. But they're growing all the time, and that means they need lots of food. We hardly have any for ourselves! Are you going to give him your share? Coz I ain't giving him mine!"

Marinka's shoulders slumped. Gedric was always so negative. If he couldn't see the potential gift this child was then perhaps it was time they went their separate ways…

"Maybe he's got someone looking for him." She said softly, looking down at the little hand dwarfed by her own fingers. "He's dressed nicely. Someone must know who he is. Maybe we could find out and claim some reward! His parents must be out of their minds with worry! We could tell the authorities, and when they contact his family there is bound to be a huge payout!"

Gedric glanced from Marinka's earnest face to the little boy. He was indeed well dressed, with shiny Kruskan-leather shoes. Designer label, by the look of them. Maybe he could steal them before they left the boy to his fate? He weighted Marinka's words with care. Perhaps there was a reward for the child, who could say? And if someone was looking for him, they probably would be overjoyed to get the brat back. On the other hand…

"Face facts." Gedric rubbed a hand over the bristle of his dark beard. "If he's on the streets then nobody wants him, or is still alive to claim him. His mama and papa are most likely dead. He's like us: there's nobody who would miss him."

"Then teach him to beg!" Marinka pleaded with him. "Take him with you when you go on the streets! You said yourself that Bel-Amman makes five times the credits we do because he has his son begging with him! It's the children that people feel sorry for, not we adults." She caught his arm, hoping that the lure of credits would prove too much for his practical sensibilities. "It could make the difference between us starving this winter!"

As predicted Gedric performed an almost instant about-turn. It was strange to think that there was pride or even competition between beggars but the mention of Bel-Amman's name had proven to be an irresistible draw-in for Gedric. Maybe if the kid was taught to beg properly…

"He's small." The bearded man snorted. "But I dare say that might work to our advantage. If we can just train him to look pathetic enough and cup his hands at passers by we might do well enough. That'd put Bel-Amman's nose out of joint!"

Marinka ruffled Han's head. She was no substitute for a mother or father, but she would do her best to look out for the boy. In return he would be put to use, searching through the garbage and begging on the streets. It was difficult not to feel sorry for the youngster, but what else could she do? It wasn't a good life, or indeed any kind of a life at all, but when the alternative was starving to death in an alley you made the most of the sabaac hand fate dealt you. For the moment Han would be safe enough.

* * *

And so the boy learned to beg. Gedric was satisfied to find that the child proved to be a real money-spinner, his scared little face and big eyes appealing to those who saw him on the streets. They never thought to question where he had come from or whom he was with, or what his background might have been. As the months passed the child's clothing became shabby and worn so that, in time, he came to pass for a true street urchin. The shoes, mud-stained as they were, perhaps remained the only clue to his once privileged life.

Marinka, however, never forgot. She would often think on the day that she met the child and wonder how he had came to be in the alleyway that cold afternoon. It plagued her to think that possibly the boy's family might still be out there, searching, desperate for information. At night-time she would look down at him and wonder if he could recollect what had befallen him, and those who had once cared for him. Not that Gedric cared. All that mattered to him was surviving through the winter.

And survive they did, for the best part of a year, until it turned to autumn once again. Marinka, full of noble intentions and perhaps with an overburdened conscience confronted Gedric, informing him that she was going to take the youngster to the authorities and hand him over. He was young, and in need of a proper home. Even if they couldn't find his real family an orphanage would be better than the cold, cruel streets filled by hungry cannoids and angry vrelts. Yes, she told him, she had become fond of the boy - he deserved a better life than the one they were giving him. Whether he liked it or not she was handing little Han in to CorSec.

The boy was asleep whilst Gedric strangled Marinka with his necktie. He had been so tired after his day of raking through the garbage that he never even awoke whilst the bearded man dragged her body out of sight into a nearby garbage skip. He finally awakened to find that both Gedric and Marinka were gone.

So had his shoes.


End file.
